


Down Time

by SaintLeona



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Best Friends, Epic Friendship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3628605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintLeona/pseuds/SaintLeona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Adamant, Hawke and Varric have some time to themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down Time

**Author's Note:**

> I played with canon a little, and I really hate doing that. But for the purposes of this fic, it needs to happen. So Varric's quest "Well...Shit" takes place before "Here Lies the Abyss," and Hawke went back to Skyhold afterwards.
> 
> This is unbeta'd, and I'm not exactly thrilled with how it came out, but it's out there now, and I'll do better next time.

Three hours.

As far as interrogations went, Varric supposed he should be lucky it was only three hours. The last time the Seeker questioned him, it took far longer and ended a lot messier.

He sighed as he walked across the courtyard to the Herald's Rest.  The tavern was decidedly more upscale than what he was used to, but he liked the place nonetheless.   The criminal element was all but absent – unless you counted Sera – the ale was high quality, the food was hot and it actually tasted like real food.  Nothing but the best for the Inquisition.

The patrons were in high spirits that night.  They'd landed another blow against Corypheus, and now the Grey Wardens had aligned to their cause.  The Iron Bull and the Chargers were circled around a table in the middle of the room, the Qunari telling his version of his time in the fade.  He was full of bluster, a marked change from when he came out of the Fade.  The journey back to Skyhold must have taken the edge off the experience.  It was either that or the ale.

Varric looked around, trying to spot Hawke.  They'd agreed to meet here here when they got back.  She'd been quiet on the trip, which wasn't like her at all.  Company and alcohol cured many ails, and he hoped it had worked for her.

"She's sad."

Varric flinched and looked to his right.  It was always disconcerting how Cole managed to show up out of nowhere.

"Who's sad, Kid?"

Cole shook his head. "So sad.  So many dead.  All my fault. Should have saved them.  I tried to take the hurt away.  Should have tried harder."

"I'm sure you did what you could."

"She hurts.  I couldn't take it away.  But he's still here.  He's okay, so I'm okay."

Varric closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.  Sometimes he could make out what Cole was talking about, but not this time. It was giving him a headache trying to keep up with the spirit, or whatever he was.  "I don't suppose you've seen Hawke?" he asked, desperate to change the subject.

"Up."

Varric pulled his hand away and peered into the upper floor of the tavern.  It was dark, but he thought he could make out shapes that could be people.  He turned to thank Cole, but the Kid was gone.

Shaking his head, he trudged up the stairs to the second floor.   He was right about the people, but none of them were Hawke.  He was about to give up and go looking for her in the keep proper when a flash of light caught the corner of his eye. Someone was on the third floor, torchlight reflecting off an ale mug.

Varric was positive that no one thought of dwarves when they designed these places.  His legs protested every step to the next floor, reminding him that he was built for living underground – didn't matter that he had never lived in Orzamar – not in a castle that stretched to the sky.  The climb proved worth it however, because perched on the steps leading out to the ramparts, was Hawke.

She was leaning her forearms on her knees and spun a mug between her hands.  She still wore dust from the road and her hair was falling out of its usual ponytail.  She stared into the mug, but most likely didn't see a thing.  

"Hawke?" She didn't acknowledge him.  He sat on the step next to her.  "How many have you had?"

"None."

He raised his eyebrows. "None?"

She shrugged.  "I just can't bring myself to drink it. I've been staring at it for two hours now."

"Well no wonder you can't drink it.  It's probably warm as piss."

Not even a hint of a smile passed her lips, and all of a sudden Varric knew this was going to get serious.  "I should have been the one left behind, not Stroud.  He was more important.  The Wardens needed him.  I was ready to die."

"Hawke, you shouldn't say things like that –"

"I  _wanted_  to die, Varric."

He'd never heard anything like that from her, ever.  She always had a streak of sarcasm a league wide.  Hell, her mother was dying in her arms, and she still managed to make a joke.

"Think about it, Varric.  My father? Dead.  Carver?  Dead. Bethany?  Who knows, maybe worse than dead.   My mother?  Dead. Anders?  Probably dead."

"You don't know that. Blondie's good at taking care of himself."

"His body may still be walking around, but it isn't him.  Not anymore.  He's Vengeance now.  Anders is gone."

Varric looked at his drink and knew exactly how Hawke felt.  He didn't want it anymore.

"Aliss."

Hawke finally looked at him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd used her given name.  She was always Hawke to everyone.

She gave him a sad smile. "My mother was the last person to call me Aliss."

Varric shifted his mug to one hand, took Hawke's drink away from her, and set them both on the floor. With any luck Cabot or one of his employees would be up later to clean and would take care of them.  "We're not going to need these."  He took Hawke's calloused hand in his own. "We're going for a walk."

"A walk?"

"Yeah, a walk. You know how it works."  He stood, took a step toward the door, and pulled her toward him.  "You put one foot in front of the other, and then your body moves."

"I'm not sure I'm in the mood, Varric," she protested, yet she submitted to his gentle coaxing.  

"Tough.   I need to tell you a story."

"I've heard all your stories."

"Not this one." He waited until the tavern door had shut behind him.  "I'm going to tell you the story of Bianca."

And that's exactly what he did.

The night was warm and clear.  Moonlight guided their way as they walked along the ramparts and Varric wove the tale of the woman he once called the love of his life.  When he began, he wasn't sure just how much he was going to tell her.  He planned on doing some editing, but that plan failed almost as soon as he began. He left out no detail.  He told her how they'd met – an errand for Bartrand – how they'd fallen for each other and fallen  _hard_.  He told her about every time Bianca's family tried to have him killed.  He told her about the crossbow, and how sentimentality demanded he name it after her.  

He told her about their wedding, and about his heartbreak when Bianca didn't show.

He told her about all the letters they exchanged over the years.  He even mentioned the last time they were together.  Hawke frowned at that.  He was uncomfortable telling her that part of the story, so he glossed over it as best he could.  He tried to tell himself it was because of the privacy of the moment, but a part of his brain called out the lie.  He didn't want to tell it to her.

He ended with Valammar. He trusted Bianca, which made her betrayal all the worse.  It also convinced him that she wasn't the same woman from fifteen years before.  He had been in love with a memory.

By the time his tale was finished, he and Hawke had found a bench in one of the more dilapidated towers and were sitting side by side.  "And there you have it.  The whole story."

Hawke looked straight ahead, maybe picking out that one brick on the wall that was a slightly different colour than all the others.  She was focused on something at any rate that held her attention more than the dwarf sitting so close to her.  "Wow," she said.  "I never knew the story would be that crappy."

Varric laughed under his breath.  "Yeah, even I have to admit it's not the best one I've ever told."

She shook her head.  A stray piece of hair fell from behind her ear, and he had to repress the sudden desire to push it back.  "No, I mean it's awful for you."

He was stunned.  He didn't expect sympathy from her – an ass kicking for being an idiot and pining away for someone else's wife, sure, but not sympathy.  "It's over now, Hawke.  Life goes on"

"You sure it's over?"

He nodded.  "Absolutely.  That particular torch has been well and truly dropped."

He placed her hand on his leg, and he forgot how to breathe.  It was too high up his thigh to be considered a simple gesture of friendship, too low to be considered anything but.  She turned her head to face him.  "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

He covered her hand with his own and curled his fingers into her palm.  His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, tracing the lines of her veins.   Her hand slowly closed around his, as if she was trying to decide if it was the right thing to do.   He looked at her and their eyes locked.  "It's worth everything," he whispered.

Hawke's lips parted and her tongue darted out to lick them.  She was breathing a little harder, but if Varric was honest – which he rarely was – so was he.  He couldn't take his eyes off her.  He leaned toward her, just to see what her reaction would be.  She leaned into him, her head dipping a bit and eyelids half closed.

They had kissed once before, ten years ago.  At that time, they knew they had no chemistry and would never work together.  But time has a funny way of changing people, and maybe, just maybe, things would be different this time.

Dammit, he  _wanted_  things to be different this time.  He wanted  _her_.

And wasn't  _that_  a new feeling?

He tilted his head and closed his eyes, and prayed to the Maker that this time, everything would go right.

The Maker answered in the form of a Skyhold guard crashing open the tower door to walk through on his nightly patrol.

Whatever spell had been cast over them broke in an instant.  Hawke jerked away from him and snatched her hand back.  The guard was confused – he didn't expect to find anyone. It made Varric wonder what he would have done if they had been real intruders.  The man recovered well however, facing them both and giving them a slight bow.  "Messere Hawke, Messere Tethras."  Hawke nodded in reply.  Varric stared at the man with a clenched jaw.  Poor guy was just doing his job, but that didn't mean it was appreciated.  "Good evening," he said, and went on his way.

 _Next time you're alone with Hawke,_ he told himself,  _make sure the bloody door won't open!_

Hawke heaved a sigh as she stood.  "Well, I think that's enough spilling our guts for one night."  She was looking around the room, everywhere but at him. "I have to leave for Weisshaupt early in the morning.  Care to be a gentleman and walk a lady to her room?  It has nothing to do with the fact that I can't find it in this place."

Varric wanted to be upset. He wanted to curse the Maker and Andraste and whoever came up with the patrol schedules.  But looking at Hawke, all he could do was grin.  So he rose and gave her a deep bow.  "Never let it be said I'm not a gentleman."  He gestured to the door.  "Glad you're feeling better."

A small smile played on her lips.  "You know, I am.  Feeling better that is.  I guess I just needed my trusty dwarf."  They walked into the night.  "And a map.  Really, does this place need to be so big?"

Varric barked a laugh. That sounded like the Hawke he knew. "Only the best for the Inquisition," he explained.

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, and for a few moments the rest of the world and its impossible problems went away.  It was just the two of them: two best friends simply being with each other.

"Here we are, madam," he said as they approached her door.  

Hawke looked at it and then back at him.  "Thanks for tonight, Varric," she said.  I needed it."

"Mediocre ale and a walk through a half-ruined castle?"

She chuckled at that. "No, I needed the swift kick in the ass to end my pity party."  She placed her hands on his shoulders.  "What would I do without you?"

"Let's hope we never have to find out."  He patted one of her hands.  "Good night, Hawke."

Hawke shifted her feet and bit her bottom lip.  "Varric," she whispered.

Before he could answer, she lowered her head and placed her lips on his.  He was startled for only a moment before returning her kiss in earnest.

Her mouth was warm and soft.  He parted his lips and was rewarded with her tongue gliding over them.  Her hands drifted from his shoulders, up his neck, and cupped his cheeks, her fingers playing over his stubble.  He reached up and brushed that stray strand of hair behind her ear before grasping the back of her neck and pulling her closer.

They broke apart and she pulled back mere inches.  Her mouth opened and closed once before she said anything.  "Stay," she breathed.  She didn't wait for him to reply, but opened the door to her room and walked in without another word.

Varric did the only thing he could.  He followed her in, shut the door behind him, and made damn sure it was locked.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be multi-chaptered, but I couldn't get the next chapter to work well. And I rather like the ending it has now, so there it is. It's staying like this.


End file.
